


A Foreign Tongue

by EqualsTrashFlavoredTrash



Category: Vikings (TV)
Genre: F/M, Language Barrier, Prince and servant, chubby sex, plus size character, sexy times in the kitchen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-20
Updated: 2018-10-04
Packaged: 2019-02-17 08:38:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,730
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13073205
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EqualsTrashFlavoredTrash/pseuds/EqualsTrashFlavoredTrash
Summary: Hvitserk takes interest in a thrall who doesn't speak his language





	1. Chapter 1

The small woman huffed as she paused kneading the dough to wipe at the sweat on her brow with the back of her hand, leaving behind a streak of flour before returning to folding and punching the stick lump. She dropped the ball of uncooked bread into the wooden bowl, covering it with a piece of cloth before turning to the water bucket to wet her hands. She used the hem of her apron to dry her fists, pulling off the last strings of dough that stuck to her knuckles before leaning against the counter. That was the last loaf to set. Once it and the few others finished rising it would be time to bake. There was a big feast tonight to celebrate the men leaving to raid in the morning.

It wasn’t long after being sold into King Ragnar’s house that her talents for cooking were recognized. The oldest of the slaves, and mother hen to all the younger girls, who was named Aug promptly put her to the task of preparing meals. This became her main duties in the house, which she didn’t mind. She enjoyed staying in the kitchen, never having to interact directly with any of the masters beside Queen Aslaug, who occasionally stopped into make sure the food was being done correctly.

That was until one evening when a younger thrall named Britt hurried in, searching for her. She was busy but the girl stated one of the Ragnarssons had asked for her specifically. She dropped the knife she was holding, as she felt an icy grip around her insides. She panicked, instantly worrying which of the four young men found it necessary to speak with her, and why. She heard the rumors about each of them and she feared that it was the youngest, Ivar who beckoned her fretting that he would have nothing good to say.

Following the the head of fine, blond hair bobbing through the crowded hall, the cook was lead to the main table. Never having been formally introduced to any of Ragnar’s sons, she only vaguely recognized each of them by reputation and breathed a sigh of relief as she was lead past the dark-haired boy at the end of the table, stopping instead by the second oldest brother.

The long braids of his light-brown hair shifted on his shoulder as he twisted his head to watch the two of them approach. A smile settled on his lips while he leaned back in his seat, swallowing the last of the food in his mouth. Holding a hand out, he urged the cook forward, brushing his fingers against her elbow as he spoke quickly, in a jovial tone.

The slave just stared at him blankly before looking to Britt who gave her a loose translation of his praise for her cooking. She blushed looking back to him and bowing her head before stuttering out one of the only words she knew of his language, “Takk.”

Ubbe and Sigurd finally let go and burst out laughing at their brother’s big, puppy-dog eyes as he watched the girl nearly run back to the kitchen. Neither were surprised he’d set his sights on the plump slave who seemed to always be covered in flour.

“How can you woo her, if she can’t even understand you?” Sigurd teased once Hvitserk returned to his food.

Language barriers did not stop the prince. He began to regularly pop into the kitchen for food, rather than sending a slave to fetch him something. Once there, he’d find a reason to hang around, watching her work. He would talk, telling her about his day or his father. At first she was flustered by his presence but she enjoyed the company, and calming cadence of his voice though she couldn’t fully comprehend what he said.

Due to the fact of her immersion added with Hvitserk’s constant babbling, she slowly found herself leaning his tongue. At night she practiced with Britt, but still kept mute around Hvitserk out of embarrassment at her novice skills of communication.

Finally one day, he was rambling about his youngest sibling’s antics on the training field when she asked him, “Why is Ivar cruel?” He stopped in the middle of tearing off a piece of bread from the roll in his grasp to stare at her blankly, surprised by the sound of her voice.

A smile pulled at his cheeks when he shrugged, “Because Ivar is Ivar. He has always been this way.”

Once Hvitserk knew she could respond their conversations were decidedly less one sided. She would respond to what she could and he did his best to help her understand when she was confused. Hvitserk also grew decidedly more flirtatious. Before, he had made flippant provocative comments off the cuff, knowing they’d go over her head. She’d still catch the way he’d watch her when she was bent over the hearth, checking on the bubbling broth.

Now he’d do whatever he could to make her blush. He loved the way she’d yelp in surprise when he’d sneak up while her back was turned, wrapping his fingers around her hips. “That smells delicious,” he would comment in a low voice, his lips next her her ear as he took in the sent of her hair rather than the food she was preparing.

He was drunk the first time he backed her into a corner. His wisps of facial hair tickled at her sensitive skin while he kissed her neck, pulling giggles from her lips as her petite hands came to rest on his chest. Everything about her was soft and warm under his touch. He pulled her against himself, guiding his knee between her thighs before finally bringing his lips to hers. Hvitserk moaned as she molded her lips with his, eagerly welcoming him into her.

“What is going on?” Aug shouted, interrupting the pair.

Both were panting as Hvitserk straightened and looked over his shoulder. “We were just talking.” He tried the excuse but it was obvious that Aug wasn’t buying it. She glared at him in a way that said everything; he needed to leave the kitchen promptly and let the girl return to her duties.

Leaving the bread to rise undisturbed, the cook sighed as she sat on the short three-legged stool, leaning her head back to rest against the wall. She let her eyes shut while keeping time in her mind so the dough wouldn’t sit for too long.

“There you are,” a familiar voice spoke. She cracked open her eyelid and tried not to smile when she spotted Hvitserk in the doorway.

“I am always here,” she stated, furrowing her brow as she rose to meet him, slightly confused by what he meant. His arms quickly found their way, snaking around her torso, pulling her in tight.

“Mm, yes that is why this is my favorite place to be,” he hummed as his kissed along her cheek before capturing her mouth with his. She grew bashful with his praise, looking away as she blushed and gnawed on her lip. He nipped at the corner of her jaw, just below her ear, while his hands began to roam. The left left settled on her ass, cupping the cheek with the broad expanse of his fingers while the other tugged at the back of her thigh, drawing it up to line with his waist. “Right here between your knees,” he mumbled between kisses as he took a breath. She smoothed her palms across his firm torso before tangling her fingers into the hair on the back of his scalp, bring his face back to hers.

Hvitserk pulled at her bottom lip before pausing to rest his forehead against hers. He took a deep breath through his nose, keeping his eyes screwed shut before he spoke. “I want you in my bed so badly. I want to feel you naked underneath me, calling my name as I make you come.”

She let out a small squeak in response, shocked by the bit she could comprehend. Hvitserk pulled back in surprise for a moment, gazing down at her blushing cheeks. “Don’t you want me?” he asked, misreading her expression.

“No, I do,” she quickly replied, cupping his cheeks. “But I cannot.”

“I’m a son of Ragnar and a prince of Kattegat, I can have whatever I wish, and no one can say different. Even if it’s you that I want.” He smirked as he pulled her closer, squeezing her bottom before continuing, “And Aug is busy in the main hall, I checked. She won’t be bothering us.”

The cook was already well aware of Aug’s tasks for the day, she knew they would not be disturbed. She said nothing, instead gnawing on her lip in annoyance that he was missing what she meant, upset with her own inability to clearly communicate. “I cannot…” she blushed, looking away before finally admitting. “I cannot say your name.”

“Really?” With a gentle finger on her chin, Hvitserk guided her to look back at him, “It’s not hard, just try.” He repeated the syllables slowly for her to repeat, drawing each sound out in example.

“Havetsick,” she repeated him, giving her best attempt to mimic the sounds. He bit his inner cheek to keep from laughing but she could see the humorous glint in his eye. With a scoff she pushed against his chest, trying to wiggle her way out of his arms. “Is it so funny? The way I speak? Britt, she laughs at me, too.”

“I’m not laughing at you,” he quickly countered, holding her shoulders so she remained against him, leaning into his chest as he lifted one palm to pet at her hair. “I love the way you talk, I think it’s adorable. I’m always excited to hear your voice.”

“You mean this, truly?” she questioned in a breathy voice. He arched his head forward, rubbing their noses briefly before gently pressing a kiss to her lips. Hvitserk could feel the moment she conceded, smiling as she let go and melted into him.


	2. Chapter 2

“Tonight.”

That’s what he said to her in the kitchen, his hands holding her round, flour covered cheeks as he leaned forward to steal another kiss. He didn't care she couldn’t say his name, he still wanted her. Breaking the mood, on of his brothers called for him from down the hall. The prince looked over his shoulder at the door, then back to her.

“Tonight, during the feast,” he reiterated before he tore himself away, retreating to who ever had beckoned him.

She stood frozen on the spot, dreamily watching where he had been when she realized everything she’d have to do between now and Tonight. Grabbing a fresh log from the bucket, she went to stoke the fire, building the heat to cook the bread.

The afternoon passed in a haze as she prepared for the feast, trying not to let her mind wander off to fantasies of what Hvitserk may have planned.

“You seem happy,” Britt teased, leaning on the counter to watch as the cook sliced vegetables. “Is it something to do with a boy? Maybe a prince?”

“I do not know what you mean,” she responded, though notably avoiding the younger girl’s gaze.

“I think it i~is,” Britt dragged out the last word in a sing-song tone, bouncing around to tug on the cook’s sleeve. “Come on, tell me! Tell me what he said, I saw you kissing! Now tell me!”

“He said nothing for you to know.” Her statement was curt and finalizing, halting anymore of Britt’s childish bemoaning. “You are too young to understand.”

Britt rolled her eyes as she slumped onto the nearby stool. “That’s what everyone says,” she complained, looking down to pick at her nails as she continued in a high pitched, mocking voice, “You’re too young. You’ll understand when you’re older. That’s not for someone your age.”

The cook couldn’t help but laugh to herself, remember hearing the same comments. “You will be old soon, do not rush time.”

The young servant scoffed at the cook’s wisdom and decided to go find someone more entertaining to bother. With out the distraction she was able to work efficiently, having almost the entire meal prepped and ready to cook when it came time for the festivities to start.

Listening to the ruckus in the main hall, she watched the stove, making sure the leg of lamb seared evenly. Once done, she handed it off to the servants and began with the next dish. She knew there was no moment for rest, that once the following rack of ribs was finished roasting, the party-goers will have already devoured the former and be sitting, eager and waiting for more. Meaning she would have to immediately start plating the suckling pig that had been baking over an open flame all day as soon as possible. As the guests reveled, she fluttered around the kitchen, stirring the stew before hurrying to crank the rotisserie. While holding a hot loaf of bread with her apron, she whirled around to find the tall prince standing in the doorway.

“Too soon!” she yelped, dropping the bread onto the butcher block. Turning to search for a knife, she missed the way he cut across the floor in a few easy strides, coming to stand beside her.

“I know. I couldn’t wait,” Hvitserk explained with a shrug, trying to snake his long arms around her thick waist while his lips met her shoulder.

“No!” she shouted, tearing herself from his grasp. “I-I can not. Not now!” Shifting, she gestured wildly with the knife in her hand to the kitchen around her. “Later. Later, when there is no food. Ok? Then, then we may kiss.” The cook prayed he’d understand and though she felt bad watching his expression drop, she knew he got the message. Every part of her wanted to hold him and apologize but she could already smell the pork starting to burn and knew it needed another rotation. Hvitserk retreated, pausing in his exit to look back, watching the way she bent over the hearth to stir the bubbling stew.

Hours later, the cook sighed as she sat down, mopping at her brow. The fire in the stove was dwindling, baking the last loaf for tomorrow’s breakfast, but still its dim flickers lit the room. The shadows danced with the flames as she gazed absently at how it popped and sparked, letting her tired mind drift when a crash jolted her back to reality.

She hurried to her feet, searching the shaded corners of the kitchen for the disturbance when she spotted a dark mass. Bracing herself, she watched as the figure rose, not resting until the fire light revealed Hvitserk’s face.

“There’s no food,” he observed, scanning the counter with a smirk.

“There is no food,” the cook agreed with a giggle, reaching for him once he was close. Curling her fingers into his tunic, she drew him into her as their lips crashed together. She could taste the ale on his breath but that meant nothing, she knew even when sober he wanted her.

Breaking for air, the cook gasped, “No, not here,” as Hvitserk dove for her neck, leaving purple welts in the wake of his lips. “Not the kitchen,” she breathed as his fingers clenched one cheek of her bottom.

“My room,” he huffed, breaking contact with his lips and her skin long enough for him to bend over. With a quick and practiced maneuver, Hvitserk hoisted the cook on to his shoulder and made his way down the hall. She was beyond flustered, having not been carried since she was a small child. The cook yelped and hollered at him, ordering for the prince to set her down at once. He merely slapped her upturned ass and continued on his way.

Though it was her first time in his chambers, she had no chance to take in her surroundings. Once her feet touched the floor he was on her, his arms curled around her sides as his face nuzzled at her cheek, peppering kisses across her jaw. He moved quickly, fumbling with the ties of her apron as the cook tried to process in her mind everything that was happening.

She attempted to slow his motions, bringing his face to hers for a deep kiss but that seemed to only stoke the fire within, his touch becoming more frantic with every moment she remained fully dressed. Discarding his effort to undo the fastenings properly, Hvitserk gave a forceful yank to the collar, tearing the garment down the center. Letting the tattered wool fall freely off her shoulders, he pulled away to watch as more of her skin was slowly revealed.

Immediately her arms flew to cover her exposed chest, wavering under his hungry gaze. She could hear Hvitserk make a disapproving tsk before he pecked her blushing cheek.

Using a more gentle and patient touch, he slid his warm palms along her forearms, bringing his fingers to rest on her wrists while his thumbs rubbed her knuckles. “Let me see you,” the prince hummed into her ear, giving a soft but eager nip with his teeth. “Please, I want to see you.”

She hesitated for a moment until she saw his smile. Lowering her arms, the cook took in the way his expression deepen, a pleased grin unconsciously pulling at his cheeks. She watched how he licked his bottom lip as he cautiously cupped her right breast in his hand. At first contact she let out a sharp gasp, then whimpered when the calluses of his palm scraped at her hard nipple, as he covered the other with his opposite hand. His grasp was firm but not painful, the supple flesh spilling over between his fingers as he slowly squeezed and massaged her.

With every inch of contact she felt sparks under her skin, burning as they coursed through her, which only served to emphasize the throb in her vulva. She had never felt an excitement quite like this, even during the moments late at night when she allowed her hand to travel between her thighs as she imagined it was his. This was different, almost a hundred percent more visceral, more intense, and more addictive.

Raising his chin, he connected with her gaze, trying to read without words that she was enjoying his touch. He found confidence in her dazed expression, relishing at the glassly look of her eyes and the way her kiss-swollen lips hung, every so slightly agape. Arching towards her, he brought his face close enough their noses brushed and asked, “I want to take off your dress, may I?”

The cook paused, anxious at his request. She moved to raise her hands again—just as she had earlier—when he caught her wrists. Hvitserk held her arms in place and spoke cautiously, “I want to see you, all of you. I want to know all of you. Don’t be nervous.” Capturing her bottom lip, he slid his arms around her wide middle and pulled her flush against him. He gave an internal moan at the way every inch of her soft belly and breasts cushioned against his torso as her small hands clung to his biceps.  

He groped what he could of her ass, drawing her close as possible before pivoting to deposit her body onto his bed. She landed on her back with an ‘oof’ as he fisted at her skirt, dragging the wool over her broad hips. She lifted her bottom, allowing him to completely remove the garment, but kept her knees pressed together so her thighs were clamped tight, concealing everything but her triangle of curly hair. The cook awkwardly waved her hands, unsure where to keep them as he continued stripping off her stockings and boots. Eventually her palms came to rest across her breast again as she watched him make fast work of removing his clothes, hastily tugging at the fabric as if wearing it caused him pain.

Once he was nude she found herself too distracted by his growing erection to recognize the sour frown that crossed his features as he saw that her hands were once again raised, shielding her from him. Climbing to lay next to the cook, the prince let his fingers wander, gently ghosting over her curves and rolls as he acquainted himself. She giggled and shifted when his touch tickled her sides, exciting him with her slight noises. Carefully he brought his hands up to hers, gently urging her fingers to lace with his, directing her arms to lay flat on the bed at either side of her head.

He began kissing her lips, feeling the way her composure relaxed against him, while traveling across her collar bone. He nipped at the soft skin, leaving a cool trail as he searched for her nipple. Freeing one hand, he gathered her breast, lifting it so that he could envelope her peak with his mouth. His tongue toyed with the small nub, batting back and forth as she squirmed. Releasing with a pop he sat up, letting out a low groan as he continued to pay sole attention to her chest, “Your tits are glorious.”

“Glow-ree-os?” she asked, furrowing her brow as she tried to repeat the word. “This means?”

Hvitserk smirked, feeling himself twitch at both her accent and naiveté. “Glorious, like wonderful,” he began, openly mouthing at her skin as he lifted her tits to meet his lips, “or amazing, fantastic.” Giving a quick squeeze, he brought his left hand down to mimic his right. He brought her tits together, holding them tight as he buried his face into her cleavage. She could hear him continue to speak, his voice muffled while listing off synonyms, though she was confident she now understood.

Pulling back, the prince drew deep breaths, pivoting to rest beside her. Repeating his practiced gentle touch, he stroked her thighs, running his palms from knee to hip. With each pass he increased the pressure as he brought his fingers closer to her middle, easing her legs apart. There was a slice of his consciousness that wanted to wrench her knees onto the bed so he could finally feel her, but he knew that wouldn’t help, so he fought his urges—being patient for her.

The cook’s resistance melted with his careful ministrations, allowing her knees to fall open for him. He shifted, scooting closer as he braced himself on one arm. Lowering to join their lips again, he pressed his fingers against her mound. Growing nervous, she began to shift—still unsure of what to do—when Hvitserk broke away.

“I want you to be a good girl for me,” he hummed, his nose tickling at her cheek. “I want you to keep your arms on the bed, keep them where they were, next to your head. Can you do that for me? Will you be my good girl?” Ducking her chin, she gave a slight but affirmative nod and lifted her wrists to lay flat on the pillow beside her ears.

Once the question of what to do with her hands was taken away from her, all the cook had to focus on was the prince. The prince and the way his skin felt against hers, the nudge of something stiff she felt on her inner thigh, the way it felt when his fingers delved into her lips, rolling at the sensitive little nub the cook previously believed only she knew of. She couldn’t hold back her moans, arching as he pressed the pad of his finger flat. Fisting at the furs underneath her, the cook fought to keep her hands in place as he had requested.

Hvitserk could barely contain himself as he watched the way she squirmed under his touch. He brushed at her center, testing how wet she was before spitting into his hand. With a confident stroke he spread the saliva over his length, lining himself up. The cook was taken by surprised as he hooked his elbow under her left knee, lifting her entire leg to better the vantage point and sink his cock into her waiting warmth. Keeping one hand planted next to her head—the other holding her thigh—Hvitserk began to thrust, his mouth agape as he watched the way her breasts bounced on impact. He was settling into the motions when she began pushing back at his shoulders.

“Stop, stop!” she panted, as Hvitserk receded. “No air.” As she gestured to how he held her, and the prince seemed to understand, tugging at her waist.

“On your knees,” he suggested, guiding her to roll over. She braced herself on all fours as Hvitserk smoothed his hand down her spine, urging her to lay her head on the mattress. He reveled for a moment, enjoying the view of her ass stuck up in the air just for him, tempted to slap her just so he could see the jiggle.

Holding his straining cock, he rubbed the head along her slit, gliding it between her pillowy lips before finding his goal. With an easy plunge he began to work himself inside, egged on by her soft moans. Using a careful back and forth he was able to fit his head past her tight entrance. He paused, taking in the way she squeezed him and then slowly sinking as far as he could until his hips met her ass.

Hvitserk could hear her mewling below him, reacting to the intrusion but not opposing it. His slid his palm across her back as he lower his head. “You’re doing so good,” he groaned into her ear as she gasped at the feeling of him grinding into her. “I’m trying to be gentle, but it’s hard,” he rasped, using all his might to hold back.

“Uh-huh,” she mumbled, pushing her hips back into his. “Do this, please,” she breathed giving him the prompting he needed.

At her word he let himself go, digging his fingers into her waist to hold her in place as he drove into her, chasing his drunken id. He could hear her words—they started out in his language but as he carried on, she drifted further from what he could understand. Giving a shake of his head, Hvitserk stopped caring for the meaning of her words, and paid attention only to the tone.

Jutting his hips forward, his skin clapping hard against her ass, he hoped he could bring her to climax before himself, but with every passing thrust that seemed less likely. He was entranced with the way her body reacted, reveling in the way her flesh rippled on impact. Every thrust he made felt so much more important as he watched how her body flowed with his movements. With each strike of his hips against hers he studied how she responded beyond the slight sounds that left her mouth.

The cook felt the coil in her belly begin to tighten with each stroke until the building tension finally snapped. Hvitserk continued without a care, driving his hips into hers as she cried out. “Ha-vet-sick!” she called, unconsciously rearing away from him and the stimuli he brought as the orgasm washed over her. He pounded forward, letting his hips snap autonomously, only caring for the moans that left the cooks mouth. Though he realized he was holding her down so that her face was pressed into the bed, she still cooed from below him, submitting to his will.

With a deep growl, Hvitserk chased his release, spurting ropes of cum deep into her cunt as he pinned her against mattress. He stuttered and groaned, coming within her before finally relaxing and falling to the side fully expended.

She rolled over, laying in a more comfortable position, giving the prince a shy smile. Hvitserk was still catching his breath as he watched the way she bit her lip, her eyes relaxed and content. He couldn’t help himself as he leaned in to cup her cheek, drawing her closer for a slow kiss.

The prince pulled back slightly, freeing his mouth to speak while staying close enough his lips brushed hers as he did so. “Can’t imagine I’m saying this, but I’ve never been so happy there was no food in the kitchen.”


End file.
